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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/27472792">Treaties in Tents at Tables</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/menecio/pseuds/menecio'>menecio</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>The Hobbit - All Media Types</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Blanket Permission, Canon Compliant, Canonical Character Death, Character Study, Gen, Implied/Referenced Character Death, Missing Scene, Negotiations, Politics, Post-Battle of Five Armies, Vignette</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-11-09</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-06 19:13:36</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>General Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>866</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/27472792</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/menecio/pseuds/menecio</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>In the aftermath of the Battle of Five Armies, three rulers sit down to speak. Bilbo is there, too.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>Bilbo Baggins &amp; Bard the Bowman, Bilbo Baggins &amp; Dáin Ironfoot, Bilbo Baggins &amp; Gandalf | Mithrandir, Bilbo Baggins &amp; Thranduil</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>4</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>24</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>Treaties in Tents at Tables</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>I wrote this back in 2017 as an experiment of sorts. I had planned to write more but have since forgotten what plot I had in mind, so hopefully you’ll enjoy this snippet-turned-ficlet!</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>Dáin Ironfoot was a good dwarf. Temperamental, certainly, but there were those who would argue that a dwarf was no good unless strong of humours. Bilbo’s experience with dwarves was limited—to twelve, exactly—yet he couldn’t help but agree with the verdict. His companions wouldn’t be the same people if they were any less intense.</p><p>Bilbo’s appreciation of their nature, however, didn’t mean that dwarvish manners weren’t an inconvenience sometimes. In particular, their cumbersomeness best came to light when there was another race of Middle-earth involved: the antithesis to dwarves, also known as elves.</p><p>Or, as the dwarves called them, crowbars.</p><p>“<em>Crowbar</em>?” Thranduil Elvenking echoed from one end of the table.</p><p>“Aye, that’s right,” said Dáin, grinning through his ginger beard from the other end as though he were the master of the tent, “ ‘cause all ye do is <em>squawk</em> like a crow.” He leant back on his seat, waving a hand as if to bat away a fly. “And yer lanky, besides.”</p><p>Thranduil’s nostrils flared. Bilbo stared at the table, keeping quiet where he was seated halfway down its length. Bard was across from him, for once making no effort to stop the brewing argument. He was probably tired of failing. Bilbo understood. He was tired himself.</p><p>The funeral had been a few days before, and now was the time for deals and treaties and other such things to be struck. <em>While the iron is hot</em>, Dáin had said with a wink, as if sharing a private joke, then invited Bilbo to witness the proceedings. Bilbo would have declined, but Gandalf had already accepted his own invitation. With his travel companion thus occupied, Bilbo had resigned himself to the meetings.</p><p>In a way, the talks were familiar. They reminded Bilbo of the way hobbits would charm and vex each other into favours, parties, and wills. Bilbo liked to think that there was a lot more ‘passive’ in their passive-aggressiveness, however.</p><p>“How original,” drawled Thranduil at last, which was his way of pretending Dáin hadn’t just managed to tick him off. Without looking down, he picked up a parchment. The impassiveness of his face made it impossible to tell if it was at random or if he actually knew what the parchment said. “And what is your answer to this?”</p><p>“Well, ‘tis a mite hard t’read from ‘ere.”</p><p>“Of course. I should have remembered that your dwarf-eyes do not reach far—same as you.”</p><p>“If I ‘ad a gold nugget for every time a bloody elf ‘as called a dwarf short, I’d be <em>even more</em> richer than ye.” Dáin threw his head back and laughed, thumping the table once. He then shot Thranduil a mischievous look. “Well, don’t be shy then. Go on, tell us the contents.”</p><p>Thranduil set the parchment down. “No.”</p><p>“Why not? Oh, let me guess—it’s ‘cause ye ‘aven’t actually sodding read it!”</p><p>“I would like to discuss the future of my people,” Bard interrupted, twirling the quill in his hands. He did that a lot, but he never wrote anything down. Bilbo suspected he didn’t know how. “Our town is no more, our losses keenly felt, and winter is upon us.”</p><p>“Ach, ‘tis too late to start building, lad,” said Dáin. “Erebor will provide shelter for yer people till the warm season comes back ‘round. We’ll keep ye dry an’ safe.”</p><p>“Shelter is but one part of it.” Bard turned to the Elvenking, his first ally, with a quiet sort of intensity that gave his need an edge of demand. “Our sick and wounded are many, and my people were already ailing before the battle. We require food and medicine if we are to make it.”</p><p>Thranduil inclined his head. Bilbo wasn’t sure if that meant he would help or simply that he had heard. Gandalf appeared to think the former: he stood up from his chair in the corner, where he had been watching like a guard dog from the start, and walked up to the table.</p><p>“What a productive evening this has been,” he said, patting Bard’s shoulder.</p><p>That concluded the meeting. There was still much to discuss, but Dáin and Thranduil were able to remain vaguely civil to each other only for short periods of time. It was best not to push their luck.</p><p>Bilbo hopped out of his seat—but not too fast. He didn’t want them to think he was eager to leave. Of course, they knew. His glazed-over look for most of it was a bit of a giveaway. Still, they couldn’t blame him. He was a hobbit, and thus not made for such grand politics. Even they, leaders as they were, seemed more than willing to avoid the duller aspects of diplomacy.</p><p>They all left Thranduil’s tent, the Elvenking saying goodbye by way of pouring himself some wine. He would be returning to his realm the following day, leaving behind a group of his subjects to help with the cleaning and organising. Dáin and Bard walked away together as they discussed how and when to move the people in the ruins of Dale into the Mountain.</p><p>Bilbo headed back into the great stone halls, Gandalf in tow, wishing he could just go home.</p>
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